


Parachute

by Salmon_Pink



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 23:53:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salmon_Pink/pseuds/Salmon_Pink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fall, it's Skye who brings her back down to Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parachute

**Author's Note:**

> Set during _F.Z.Z.T_. Written for [Femslash February](http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/femslash-february), and for [Porn Battle XV](http://battle.oxoniensis.org/index.html), prompts "Jemma Simmons/Skye - awkward, quiet, cute, touching, promise, insecure, privacy, knees".

Skye’s hand is on the small of Jemma’s back. She hasn’t really stopped touching Jemma since she’d wrapped her in that tight ‘yay-you’re-not-dead’ hug and buried her face in Jemma’s neck. They’re small touches, fingers brushing the back of Jemma’s hand or hips bumping together. Little ‘don’t-jump-out-of-any-more-planes’ touches.

Jemma should probably clarify that she most definitely does _not_ have plans to jump out of any more planes, but she’s rather enjoying the touches so she keeps quiet.

Only the touch is growing less gentle now. It’s more firm, more insistent and, oh, okay, it’s _steering_ her, and Jemma laughs a little at herself, because she should probably be better at this, but she really is hopeless at reading these subtle physical cues. But she’s got it now, so she lets Skye’s hand guide her along the hall, past her own door and straight to Skye’s bunk.

That’s a sign even Jemma can read.

The door’s barely closed before Skye’s on her, and Jemma hears herself make a small, surprised sound, even though she knew it was coming. Or at least suspected it was coming, based on past behaviour. Hypothesised that Skye wanted privacy because she intended to do more than just _hug_ Jemma.

Either way, she still manages to sound surprised.

But Skye just swallows the sound down, mouth heavy and hungry over Jemma’s own. Fingers tugging restlessly at Jemma’s clothes, biting at Jemma’s lower lip in this specific way that makes Jemma’s knees feel utterly weak.

She sinks to the bed because standing up is suddenly beyond her, and Skye follows, somehow never breaking the kiss. The bunkrooms are small, and the way Skye is all over her makes the room seem even more cramped than usual. Jemma feels surrounded, _overwhelmed_ , by both Skye’s presence and her hunger, and she’d thought the shaking from her earlier freefall had mostly subsided but there’s a definite tremor in her hands.

Skye just _does_ that to her, makes her feel fragile and strong at once, makes parts of her that are too often ignored feel _alive_.

She clutches Skye’s waist, sat on the edge of the bed, Skye straddling her lap, and lets Skye’s hands roam over her, squeezing her shoulders, stroking her arms, pushing her hair from her face.

“I really am okay, you know,” she babbles when the kiss finally ends, pitch rising higher when Skye attacks her neck with hard, fast kisses that send ripples of pleasure down Jemma’s spine. “Not going anywhere, honest, absolutely fine, nothing to worry about.”

Skye responds with a particularly vicious bite, right beside her collarbone, and it’s just as well she’s a ‘all-buttons-done-up-even-the-top-one’ kind of girl, because that’s going to leave a mark.

“Yes, yes, point made, I’ll just shut up and enjoy the life-affirming sex, shall I?”

Skye makes a pleased noise and Jemma can feel the stretch of her lips against her skin, can feel her smile.

Skye pulls back enough to pull her shirt over her head with this enchanting little shimmy that ripples the muscles of her stomach. She never wastes time when it comes to getting naked, like she’s happiest when her clothes are on the floor and, well, Jemma’s starting to understand the idea of that. Because before Skye she’d stammer and blush at the idea of stripping in front of somebody, but now she’s just as eager to shed her clothes, because it means _skin_. Bare skin, _Skye’s_ skin, touching each other all over, and Jemma pulls at her own clothes, lets them fall wherever, gaze focused on the way Skye’s fingers move over the button of her jeans.

It’s still a mystery to her how Skye can take off her jeans and still be straddling Jemma’s lap the whole time, rocking from one knee to the other but never leaving Jemma’s personal space. Jemma’s quite sure that if she tried it for herself, she’d end up on the floor in a heap. 

She keeps meaning to study Skye’s technique, but she somehow always get distracted. Funny, that.

Skye’s bra and panties are both violet, a matching set, perfectly cute yet sexy, and maybe with anyone else Jemma would feel self-conscious that her boring white bra doesn’t match her floral underwear, but the embarrassment never comes. Not when Skye looks at her in that way, like Jemma is something incredible, someone she finds endlessly _sexy_.

She falls half backwards, half to the side when Skye bears down on her again, landing with one leg hanging off the bed and her head and shoulders pressed awkwardly against the wall. Not the most sensual of sprawls, and she probably looks ridiculous, but Skye crawls over her like a jungle cat, leans down to press her lips to Jemma’s cleavage, her ribs, her stomach. Hitting all the spots that make her giggle, all the spots that make her _groan_ , and Jemma’s hips lift up automatically like they have a mind of their own when Skye starts sliding her panties down her legs.

She wriggles a little until Skye can settle between her spread legs, and Jemma can hear how loud and fast her breathing sounds.

Skye’s impatient, more so than usual, and there are no soft and soothing touches to ease Jemma in. Just Skye’s lips between her thighs, insistently mouthing at her, and Jemma makes a noise that’s somewhere between a yelp and a whimper, one hand settling in Skye’s long hair and the other coming up to scratch mindlessly at the wall above her head.

Except, oh, that’s the wall to Fitz’s bunk, and Jemma has to force her hand back down, slap it over her own mouth, and the mischievous spark in Skye’s eye when she glances up the length of Jemma’s body suggests she knows _exactly_ what Jemma is trying to do. Or not to do, as the case may be, trying not to make noise, because that’s not fair to Fitz. But Skye apparently doesn’t care, or maybe she’s just that fond of Jemma’s noises. Because she’s licking at Jemma’s clit almost _cruelly_ , pressing against it with the very tip of her tongue, and Jemma’s already making desperate little sounds behind her palm.

She’s not exactly had much experience with this whole ‘field-agent-who-sees-danger-on-a-regular-basis’ thing, but it’s entirely possible that she has a bit of a _thing_ for that danger. Because she’s already so wound up, adrenaline still zipping through her system and making her light-headed. She’s so _wet_ , and the thought makes Jemma blush and buck up against Skye’s mouth, where she’s kissing messy and rough.

Skye’s making this soft humming noise against her, which really isn’t fair, and the vibration of it is doing things to Jemma’s mind. All those factoids and figures that are always bouncing around her brain are fading to white-noise, and then Skye’s pushing two fingers into her and Jemma’s keening and twisting and trying to press down on them. Looking down at Skye with wide eyes, because she couldn’t shut them if she tried, watching Skye undo her in every way.

Usually Skye’s touches are playful and sweet but right now there’s an intensity to them, the fingers inside Jemma thrusting and curling to a relentless rhythm, the fingers of her other hand leaving bruises on Jemma’s hip. 

Skye was _scared_ , Jemma knows that, but it still hits her like an epiphany. 

She almost _died_. Jemma almost died, and that’s part of her life now, and she wouldn’t change it for the world.

She almost died, but she’s _alive_ , more alive than she’s ever felt, and Jemma feels herself pulse and clench and throb, making a strangled sound behind her hand. Coming around Skye’s fingers, under Skye’s tongue, her back arching and head snapping back against the wall with a bang.

Everything swims for a moment, blissfully quiet.

Jemma’s first thought when her mind starts to reboot itself is that she _really_ hopes Fitz isn’t in his bunk, because there’s no way he could have missed the dull thud of her head smacking against his wall. Whoops.

Skye’s chin is propped up on her palm, lying on her front between Jemma’s legs, elbows digging into the mattress and toes absently curling at the air. She’s watching Jemma’s face with that same intensity Jemma felt in her touch.

“Is this the part where I have to promise not to jump out of the plane again?” Jemma asks, and she’s trying for light-hearted but her voice wobbles a little around the words.

“Do you actually have plans to jump out of the plane again, Simmons?” Skye shoots back teasingly, tilting her head so her hair brushes the inside of Jemma’s thighs.

“No,” Jemma replies quietly, reaching down to brush her fingers over Skye’s cheek.

Skye turns her head, kisses Jemma’s palm, never breaking eye contact, gaze bright and warm. “Good,” she whispers, and Jemma grins and lets herself be pulled down the bed, lets Skye’s weight settle over her and keep her grounded until the shaking finally stops.


End file.
